


Lady of the Forest and the Farmer's Boy

by Jalules



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bondage, Communication, Dom/sub, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Falling In Love, Femdom, Flirting, Folklore, Frottage, Grinding, Humiliation, Kink Exploration, Kink Negotiation, Long, Nature, Nature Magic, Oral Sex, Pegging, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Trees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-02-23 00:54:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23903152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jalules/pseuds/Jalules
Summary: Briar, the guardian of a forest, gets to know local farmhand, Parlan, a young man with a certain... reverence for nature.Or perhaps just reverence for her.
Relationships: fierce tree spirit/kindly farmboy
Comments: 17
Kudos: 123





	Lady of the Forest and the Farmer's Boy

**Author's Note:**

> This work was previously available via a certain online publisher but has since been taken down in favor of offering it here for free. Enjoy 💁

* * *

**.**

The spirit of the Century Tree had lived many lives, each one a perfect stretch of exactly one hundred years, each in the form of a woman. She resided in the forest, among the trees and wildlife, and had become a legend in the surrounding villages. The people there called her dryad, or fey, or greenwoman, or lady of the forest.

She called herself, at least this time around, Briar. She was the heart of the forest, and its guardian. She raised tender saplings and laid crumbling trunks to rest, growing and changing the forest in fractions around her each day. It was a wild wood that comprised her home and family, and she too, was a wild thing.

The local women whispered stories about her, while their children dared each other to play beyond the forest’s edge, and the local men hunted her.

It was a daily occurrence; some young man or another would come bounding through the woods with the excuse of catching their supper or collecting wood for their fire, but it was really the mysterious greenwoman they were after. They wished to take her as a wife, or simply have their way with her, or catch her, or kill her. To Briar it was all the same. No matter their intention, the men all came from a place of selfish entitlement. They wanted to  _ have _ her, as a bride or as a prize, dead or alive.

It would be a cold day in hell before any of them caught her, of course. Briar was not often seen, much less cornered. She had outwitted generations of humans in each of her previous lives, and this century was no different. She kept to the safety of the forest, protecting the trees as they did her, and whenever a foolish young man blundered into her path, she sent him running home, branch-whipped and thorn-scratched.

“You’re a spirit of  _ temptation _ .” One of them spat at her once, when she was barely out of adolescence. He cowered among the roots she had raised to trip him up, furious at having missed a chance to grab at her waist, to get a hand around her throat, “Walking around like that, nearly naked where any man could see!”

She stood over him, bark-browned skin and greenleaf hair, natural as the day she sprouted, “More than nearly.” She corrected, “Perhaps you should avert your eyes, then.”

He cursed her, as many did, and called her names, though he had little left to say after she sent a particularly gnarled root crushing into his groin. He hobbled out of her forest, wheezing, and did not return. She graciously allowed him to keep his traitorous eyes.

Still, such violence earned her a reputation, and while it frightened off many who thought themselves potential suitors, it only emboldened others who sought to break her of her wildness. Fending off men had become as much a part of Briar’s routine as mending cracked tree limbs and picking blooms off of wild roses to let the bushes prosper. It interfered with her work, in fact, and she resented the men of the surrounding villages for it.

**.**

Not all of them were so terrible though. There were a few who minded their business and gave her no trouble, and one in particular offered Briar an entirely different sort of distraction from her duty to the forest.

He was handsome; he had the strong look of a laborer about him, and soft, dark hair that often fell into his eyes as he stooped down to collect dry wood. He was observant, too, having noted the places that she watched from, always glancing up into her favored branches before looking away in a hurry, too bashful to ever make eye contact.

He was shy, it seemed, something that Briar found quite charming. She admired him from afar, watching as he walked, whistling, through the rough forests paths, gathering firewood and wild berries. A small part of her wanted to speak with him, to learn if he had a pleasant voice to match his pleasant face, to see if he would be as gentle with her as he was with the rest of the woods. The thought that underneath it all he might be the same as all the other men she had met kept her from ever reaching out.

And so they each kept their distance, coexisting in silence.

Until one day he overcame his shyness, drawing closer than he had ever dared before, closer than she had ever let a man come to her. He stood under the oak branch she was stretched across and she peered down at him, curious to see what he might want, hoping that he would not suddenly transform into a nuisance.

“Excuse me.” He said, looking up at her, almost reverent, “I’m sorry to disturb you, lady of the forest.”

Briar sat up upon her branch, braced against it in the event that she would have to run, or strike back. Cautious, she pushed back the leaves of her hair to see him clearly, and said, “You have not disturbed me yet.”

The young man smiled, and the hopeful expression paired with the concerned twist of his brow made Briar’s heart ache just slightly. He had such a pretty face, and without so much distance between them she could see the color of his eyes; honeyed brown, flecked with gold. She saw sunlight in those eyes, and rich earth.

“I wanted to warn you,” He said, “Last night in my village I overheard the innkeeper and the baker’s son talking about giving you trouble. They plan to come into the forest tonight and catch you.”

Briar gripped the branch below her tightly. She had never received a warning before. She had half a mind to accuse the man of trickery, “Men are always trying to catch me.” She told him, “All of them failed.”

“Of course.” The young man said, bowing his head politely, “You’re impossible to catch. But with respect, my lady, it’s the forest I was worried for. The innkeeper threatened to set fire to the trees to draw you out.”

Briar straightened her back at his choice of words-  _ with respect _ . She liked respect. It was so seldom given to her, and having it on offer from this man who looked up at her through his soft, dark bangs, felt especially nice.

“It wouldn’t be the first time one of those fools tried to burn the world around them.” She noted, and, after a moment of hesitation, uncertain as to whether or not she ought to continue a conversation at all, said, “Thank you for the warning, kind one. May I ask your name?”

She wouldn’t blame him for refusing to answer. There was some small truth to the old stories whispered through the villages, about fey who could take a man’s name and work their strange magic to make a servant of him.

“Parlan.” The young man answered immediately, regardless of superstition, “The farmer’s son.”

“Parlan,” Briar repeated the name, seeing him tense in anticipation, before offering her own in trade, “I call myself Briar. And by ancient laws I will owe you a boon if your warning proves true.”

She patted the branch beneath her and the wood bent at her touch, leaning low to the ground for her to climb down in one small step. The branch lifted again once her bare feet were on the earth. Though Parlan no longer had to look up to her while she stood right before him, reaching his shoulder, the man seemed to be trying to make himself smaller, still bowing his head.

“If you were lying to me I would be obligated to curse you.” Briar pointed out, “But you don’t seem like the type to lie.”

“I would never, my- Briar. My lady Briar.” Parlan assured her, stumbling over his words. A flush had risen in his cheeks, arching over his nose, “I only wanted to warn you, as I said, and apologize on behalf of my village. Some of my peers have no respect for nature. It’s... troubling.”

Briar scoffed, “It isn’t only nature that they don’t respect.” She gestured to herself in a sweeping motion, top to bottom, “It’s the thought of a woman living independently that drives them to attack. It makes them feel weak, which makes them feel angry.”

Parlan shook his head helplessly, “I can’t get my head around that kind of thinking,” He said, “I’ve always preferred strong women.” And then he blushed so intensely that the tips of his ears turned red, “Admired them, I mean. I’ve always admired them.”

Briar laughed, sharp and loud like a branch snapping. He was easily flustered, this man. She liked the color in his face, rich and alive, probably hot to the touch. She liked his expression, too, caught somewhere between embarrassed and pleased as she laughed at his expense.

“I should be on my way then.” He said softly, turning to go, “Thank you for your time.”

Briar watched him go, smiling all the while.

**.**

**.**

Sure enough, just as Parlan had warned, a pair of men entered the forest that night armed with ropes and torches.

Briar was prepared.She stood high up in the branches of the tree they intended to burn, her arms full of river water held in wide, waxy leaves, and she doused their torches before they could make heads or tails of where she’d come from. She took up their ropes with swaying, grasping branches and hung them far out of reach. Every leaf around them began to shake, raising a rattling chorus that left the men shivering in fear.

“Unless you wish to have those ropes put around your necks, you’d best hurry home.” Briar called down, proud, from the unharmed tree.

They called her a demon and a harlot. They spit on the roots of the tree and cursed her thrice over. Neither of them dared to climb the tree to reach their ropes though, or Briar herself. They turned and stomped away, disappearing beyond the forest’s edge.

Briar kept watch for a few hours, but no more humans showed themselves. She returned to her home in the Century tree and rested until sunrise, dreaming idly of when she would see the farmer’s boy again and what boon he might request.

**.**

**.**

It was several days before Parlan returned to the forest to gather firewood, but when he did, Briar was waiting for him, ready to offer a boon.

Most humans, when offered a boon from a wild fey or nature spirit, would ask for wealth, or love, or healing. If they were especially greedy, or short sighted, they would seek power. Those situations never ended well. Briar hadn’t had the opportunity to grant a boon in this lifetime yet, but she had some small faith that Parlan wouldn’t ask anything too ridiculous of her. He’d likely wish for his family’s crops to thrive, or to win the heart of someone in town. He was certainly of marrying age, and would make a fine partner to any lucky young lady or gentleman.

Though Briar couldn’t imagine why an attractive and considerate young man such as himself would need magical interference to find romance. Perhaps, she thought with a touch of disappointment, he already had a sweetheart of some kind. She considered all this from the comfortable grass around a young maple, collecting the twin-tailed seed pods it had dropped, to distribute later in sparser areas of the woods. 

She watched for Parlan, and when he came up the nearby path, arms full of kindling, she smiled.

He stopped before her and smiled back, still shy, but able to hold her gaze now that they had been introduced. He set the firewood in his arms down beside the path and came closer to the maple tree to meet her.

“I’m glad to see you and the forest alive and well.” He said.

Briar rose to her feet and stepped forward, tipping all but one of the seed pods in her hand back onto the ground to collect again later. They would wait for her, or find someone else to carry them, “There was no question of our survival,” She assured, and held the remaining set of seeds out to Parlan, holding the stem between two fingers. The sun through the trees turned the thin green skin of the seed pods translucent, like fragile insect wings, “But your warning was appreciated, and has earned you a boon.”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary.” Parlan raised his hands in gentle refusal, “You don’t owe me anything, my lady.”

“Briar.” She reminded him, and reached out to take one of his hands, turning it over and pressing the maple seeds gently into his palm, “There’s no need to be humble. I promised you a boon, and a boon you shall receive. Let these seeds represent a favor granted.”

Parlan blushed faintly. He curled his fingers around the seed pod, “The gift of a tree from the lady of the forest herself is more than enough.”

Briar laughed at him again, softly this time, equal parts charmed and frustrated by his sweet demeanor, “Isn’t there any wish I can fulfill for you? Promise you a bountiful harvest? Or bring you luck?” She hesitated to mention love.

Parlan shook his head, smiling that pleased, embarrassed smile again, “I don’t want to rely on luck.” He slipped the seedpod she’d given him into the pocket of his trousers, “I don’t want to ask anything of you, truly. You’ve already done enough just by protecting the forest. But if you must do me a favor to satisfy tradition, could you- could I-” He stumbled over his words again, growing nervous.

Briar tensed, uncertain. He blushed so, he had to be thinking of romance, or sex. If he asked her to help him win someone’s heart she would do it, but the task would be like a thorn in her heart. Impatient, she demanded, “Speak.”

Parlan blinked in surprise at her tone, his back and shoulders going straight, at attention. His eyes were bright, sun touched as the maple seeds, when he answered, “Would you do me the favor of allowing me to kiss your hand?”

Briar nearly recoiled on instinct. She drew her hands up to her breast, protective. She relented, however, at the hurt expression that flickered across Parlan’s face. 

“I’m sorry-” He began to say, at the same time that she said, “I will allow it.”

They both stood in silence for a moment, and then, slowly, as if in a dream that he wasn’t ready to wake from, Parlan nodded. He stepped near to her as she offered her hand, and then, blushing up to his ears, he knelt down.

Briar watched, breath caught in her throat, as Parlan dropped down onto his knees and reached up to take hold of her hand. He held her fingers gently between his own and brought them to his lips, pressing the faintest kiss to her knuckles. She could barely feel the touch beyond the racing of her heart, the heat that flared through her at the sight of him kneeling before her.

As he released her hand he looked up and met her eyes, sighing with his reluctance to let go. Briar wanted, badly, to keep him there.

“Thank you, my lady.” Parlan said softly, and though he had leaned away he made no effort to stand up.

“You don’t need to call me ‘my lady,’ Parlan. I told you my name for a reason.”

He ducked his head self-consciously, hands clasped before him, “It just feels appropriate,” He explained, “Especially when I’m… beneath you, my lady.”

Briar took in a sharp breath, the heat inside her making her flushed and dizzy, making her wet beneath the twisting leaves at her groin. She touched Parlan’s shoulder gently with the same knuckles he had just kissed, urging him to stand. He did so, head still bowed, shoulders tucked inward, almost repentant. She reached up to touch his cheek, the skin hot against her hand, and lifted his chin so he would look at her. His pupils were blown, his eyes dark as overturned soil now, and she saw the want in them like a mirror of her own heated gaze.

“Your boon was granted. My promise to you is fulfilled.” She said, and with that settled, asked, “May I kiss you?”

Parlan, lost for words, nodded.

So she kissed him, rising up on the balls of her feet to bring her lips to his. She was gentle, unpracticed after years of avoidance, but he melted against her in an instant, and as his lips parted she gradually gained the confidence to use greater force. Her teeth grazed his lips, drawing sharp gasps from him, his knees going weak as she thrust her tongue into his mouth to slide against his own. 

She pressed her body close to his, sliding her hand up into his hair and gripping tightly, pulling him down to meet her when she grew tired of struggling to reach. He whined at that, and her heart pounded, wild. She wanted, for an instant, to free him from his shirt and learn if his prominent blush showed on his chest as well. She wanted to shove him back down onto his knees for the pleasure of seeing him look up at her, disheveled. She wanted to lay him out on the forest floor and kiss him for hours.

But they were standing in the middle of the woods. And though she had no qualms about being seen naked and aroused in the woods, kissing a man, she gathered from the attitude of the other local people she had met that it would reflect poorly on Parlan to be spotted in a state of undress and arousal out among the trees in broad daylight.

And he  _ was _ in a state of arousal, undoubtedly. Briar could feel him growing hard against her thigh where it fit between his own in their eagerness to be as close as possible. Reluctantly, she moved away, leaving him breathing heavily and staring after her lips, then her eyes, desperate. She smoothed his hair where she had twisted it up in her hold, and asked, “Come home with me?”

Parlan nodded again, though by now he had found his words, “Yes, absolutely, please.”

That  _ please _ rung in Briar’s ears, a word she wanted to hear from him again and again. She took his hand and led him deeper into the woods, nearly running in her eagerness. Branches leaned out of their path, swaying as she hurried past, and Parlan marveled at their movements, stumbling alongside her. By the time they reached the Century tree he had calmed down slightly, the color fading from his cheeks, his erection flagging, but his hand was still hot in Briar’s own. She squeezed it encouragingly as her tree, her home, welcomed them in.

It was an impressive tree, not very tall, but enormous at its hollow trunk, twisting into sturdy branches heavy with lush green leaves, just the same as the ones that framed Briar’s face. It was split down the center as if struck by lightning, a razor thin opening in the bark that parted, shifting and bending, to create a doorway for Briar and her mystified guest to climb inside. It closed after them, leaving them in darkness that was only interrupted by thin beams of sunlight sneaking in from overhead.

It was not a large living space by any means, just tall enough that Parlan didn’t have to duck when he came in, containing nothing more than a makeshift, moss covered bed. It was the bed that Briar pulled Parlan along to, admiring his awestruck expression in the dim light as she directed him up onto the soft, springy moss.

When he was seated she felt as if she loomed over him, the inches in height he gave up to her by sitting down making a world of difference. She had never been insecure in her height, about any part of herself really, but something about standing above this man, something about him wanting to be beneath her, made her feel an altogether different sort of confidence. It thrilled her, seeing him kneel for her, defer to her.

“Take your shirt off.” She told him, the way she had wanted to when they were exposed in the forest, and he jumped to oblige. The sturdy cloth garment was tugged up over his head and thrown aside to lay on the ground. He put his hands at his sides then, fidgeting fingers bunched to fists. He stared hopefully up at her, awaiting her next command. The front of his trousers were tented, a damp spot developing where the tip of his length pressed against the coarse fabric. It looked uncomfortable, and after a moment she said, “Trousers too.”

Watching him try to wriggle out of them without quite leaving the bed got a laugh out of her, and Parlan shivered at the sound, dick twitching once it was exposed. He kicked his boots and trousers away beside his fallen shirt, and returned to his former position, hands balled at his sides, waiting.

Briar looked him over, still smiling widely, appreciating his build, hearty as a farm boy should be, hard where work had given him muscle, soft where he was fed well, “You like it when I laugh at you.” She said, part accusation, part question, “Do you want me to mock you?”

Parlan wet his lips nervously. He nodded, “I- it does things to me, my lady, your laugh.”

And Briar, despite herself, laughed again. It was strange and precious, the way he curled in on himself, tucking his strong shoulders up against his reddening neck in shame, while between his legs his erection stood hard and aching. She reached out to him, touching his cheek again, and this time he looked up at her without being pressed, “I don’t know if I could be cruel to you, Parlan. You’re too good.”

That, too, elicited a reaction. He shuddered and leaned into her touch, kissing the tips of her fingers when he found them, “You don’t have to be cruel,” He said, “Just be you.”

Briar savored the tender touch, holding still while he pressed a soft kiss to the bend of her fingers, another to her palm. She eased her other hand into his hair, stroking his bangs back away from his eyes, her short nails scratching faintly against his scalp, “That I can do,” She told him, and leaned in to kiss him once more.

Just as she had before, she started from a place of gentleness, feeling her way, but once he was sighing, moaning into her mouth, she climbed onto the bed alongside him, getting into his lap. She backed him up against the curving, wooden walls of the tree, dragging her sex against the thick expanse of his thigh so that her folds spread, slick and wet against his skin. With a gentle roll of her hips, her clit rubbed against him perfectly, and for a brief, blinding moment she wondered if she should simply grind against him until she came, letting him watch.

But he was hard and hot against her own thigh, and when she broke the kiss and paused to look into his eyes, she wanted, intensely, to see him come apart.

“Will this do?” She asked him, shifting her weight a little to press her body more fully against him.

Parlan nodded enthusiastically, struggling to keep still, “Yes,” He said, voice tight, “Yes, thank you.”

It was on the tip of Briar’s tongue to say that he didn’t need to thank her, but as she moved her hips, grinding down against his thigh, rubbing, not quite enough, against his straining erection, she bit back that dismissive instinct and let the heat in her speak instead, “You’re a gorgeous creature.”

Parlan shivered from head to toe. He bit at his lip, holding in a small, sharp sound, and Briar quickly leaned forward to kiss him and set it free. She bit down harder, where his teeth had just been, and he whimpered, tense all over.

“You’re beautiful,” He managed to say, between being kissed and gasping for air, “You’re incredible.”

Briar grinned at the compliments, moving her hips in tight circles against him as she sought release, already on edge from seeing his eyes glazed with desire. She leaned back to enjoy the sight of him more fully, groaning low in her throat as the arch of her back, the stretch of her muscles, complimented the friction against her clit. The rhythm of her hips was becoming faster, less coordinated, the closer she got to release.

“So you do blush down your chest,” She commented with a breathy laugh, and broke into further giggles at Parlan’s embarrassed squirming, “And you don’t know what to do with your hands, sweet one. Or are you trying to hide them?”

Parlan’s hands were still at his sides, clutching the moss beneath them so hard his knuckles had gone pale. He straightened his fingers out and hid them beneath his thighs, self-conscious, only to withdraw them and set them on the mossy bed again, “I’m sorry, my lady.” He said, well and truly shamed, without the hint of excitement that made Briar want to tease him, “Would you like me to use them?”

Briar slowed her hips, considering. She could certainly make good use of his hands; to cup her breasts, to move broad fingers against her clit, to wrap around his own cock and stroke himself like he must in secret, perhaps dreaming of her. But for whatever reason he was keeping them to himself.

“You can do whatever you like with them.” She said with a shrug of her shoulders, “Or I could bind them out of the way, if that’s what you’re after.”

At his sides, Parlan’s fingers tensed briefly, then relaxed. He looked up at Briar in wonder and said, barely a whisper, “Please.”

Briar, flushed from her own suggestion, and more so from his eager acceptance of it, slipped her fingers carefully free of his hair and placed her palm against the wood of the Century tree. It bent to her whim, even more fluidly than any other tree in the woods, sprouting thin, springy branches to take hold of Parlan’s slackened wrists, raising his arms up and binding them in twisted wood high above his head.

He cursed softly, awestruck, and murmured, “I didn’t realize that was an option.”

Briar laughed, and Parlan squirmed, and with that they began to move together again, her hips maintaining a gentle rotation while he rutted up against her.

“I’ll gladly restrain you any time,” She offered, delighted, “You look good tied up like an offering for me.”

Parlan moaned brokenly, straining against the wood that held him as he bucked up, hard enough that Briar had to brace herself against his chest. She kept one hand there, palm spread over his heart, while she slid the other back into his hair, petting the dark locks fondly. She leaned in to kiss him, just once, softly, before leaving his mouth free to cry out for her.

She watched him twist and squirm where he was trapped, against the wood and under her weight, humping her leg desperately, “Come on now,” She panted against his ear, speaking as much to herself as to him, “You’re nearly there, come for me.” 

A sound caught in his throat, nearly a sob, and she moaned in satisfaction at hearing it, hips jerking against him in quick movements- close, so close. She gripped his hair tighter, her body tensing while she ground her clit down against his thigh, gasping as her orgasm hit, “I want- I want to see you-”

There was another choked off noise, so close to crying, and Parlan came with a shudder, spilling against her hip and thigh. He was trembling as she rode out her orgasm in lazy rolls of her hips, putting pressure on his spent, oversensitive cock.

The thought flashed through Briar’s mind that she might like to keep touching him, to get him worked up and make him come again and leave him exhausted and begging for rest. She giggled dazedly at the idea, at how quickly these desires had come over her. She’d always liked being in control, in the practical sense, but this… this was something else.

She climbed carefully off of Parlan’s thigh, not minding the sticky wetness of the aftermath, but feeling a little sore, and untangled her fingers from his hair once more, careful not to pull now that the moment was passed and the mood had changed. She breathed deeply, steadying herself, and touched Parlan’s shoulder gently, “Are you alright? I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

He nodded, then shook his head, tongue-tied again after having come. Eventually he strung together enough words to say, “Thank you, my lady.”

And though Briar smiled, she didn’t laugh, “Thank  _ you _ , Parlan,” She said in return, “Should I let you go now?”

They both looked up at the thin branches twisted around his wrists. He took a while before answering, “Yes.” He said, and hesitated on something further, mulling it over even as Briar untwisted the branches with a wave of her hand, setting him free. He looked concerned, uncertain, as he flexed a touch of numbness out of his hands and eyed the clothing he had left on the ground.

“You could stay a while if you like.” Briar offered, stretching out across the moss bed, “Unless you have to hurry home.”

“I’m not expected back yet.” Parlan said thoughtfully. He leaned back onto his elbows beside her, relaxing little by little. While the color gradually faded from his chest and face, Briar plucked a piece of moss off of the bed beneath her and cleaned the sweat and semen from her skin as best as she could in the moment. She would go to the river later, to wash up properly, but for now she was content to laze around

The two of them lay like that for a while, catching their breath, nearly dozing, being near but not quite touching. The dim light inside the tree shifted, from thin morning light to the brightness of noon. Briar sat up and stretched, and looked over Parlan where he lay. He made a pretty picture stretched out against the moss, fingers curled lazily into the softness of it.

“May I ask you something?” Briar asked him, and he pushed himself upright, attentive.

“Anything.” 

There were, Briar realized, many things she wanted to know about him. She barely knew him, and all at once the prospect of getting to know him felt like a daunting task, but one she’d love to undertake. She did have a particular question in mind, though.

“Why did you want your hands bound?” She asked him, her tone light and curious, “I would hate to be tied up. It just makes me think of the men from your village trying to capture me. But it seems like you enjoy it.”

To her surprise, Parlan did not blush. He studied his own hands, then took a breath as if preparing to speak, but faltered. He tried again, clasping his hands together this time, “It feels safe.” He explained, “I wouldn’t like it if someone meant to do me harm, of course. But if it’s with someone like you, it’s- it’s hard to explain.” He worried at the palm of one hand with the fingers of the other, rubbing absentmindedly at a prominent callous, “It feels good to be helpless. Is that strange?”

Briar could not relate. The thought of putting herself willingly in someone else’s hands like that, to follow their whims, only made her tense and uncomfortable. But she had no doubt that Parlan enjoyed it; she had just seen him trapped against the wooden wall of her home, loose limbed and wide eyed with eagerness to have her explore his body. And she, in response, had taken great pleasure in trapping him there and making a toy of him.

“If it  _ is _ strange than I’m just as strange as you.” She assured him, and reached out to put her hand over his, “But I suspect we all have strangeness about us.”

Parlan smiled at her and turned his hand palm-up to gently clasp her own. She felt the callouses he’d been worrying at, thickened and raised like knots in a tree. 

“And I’d like to be strange with you again,” Briar suggested, “If that’s amenable to you.”

“Amenable-” Parlan repeated, laughing in surprise, “I- Of course it is. There’s nothing I’d like more than to be strange with you again.”

Briar grinned, “Lovely.” She said, and although she was already looking forward to hearing Parlan say  _ please _ again, breathless and desperate, even more than that she was pleased that he wanted to see her again at all. She kissed him, softly, and she could feel the curve of his smile against her lips.

When they parted, though, he was frowning, “I wish I could stay longer, but I should head home now.” He said sullenly, “Before someone thinks I’ve been killed by a bear.”

“Or taken by a forest spirit.” Briar sighed, teasing. She watched as he got up and redressed, slow in his hesitancy to leave. She eyed his backside as he pulled on his trousers, promising herself that the next time they met like this she wouldn’t make the mistake of letting him sit before she could get her hands on his ass.

She rose from the moss covered bed as well to walk him out of the Century tree, and farther, back to the path he’d been walking on earlier that day. He gathered up his firewood again, and bent to kiss her farewell.

“Come back soon, sweet one.” She urged.

“I will.” He promised, “Until then, Briar.”

**.**

**.**

When she was younger, still at the very start of her current lifetime, Briar had sometimes seen young couples come to the woods together. They held hands and walked the forest path, or picked flowers, or set out blankets to share meals, or laid down on those blankets to kiss and touch. They would sneak into the forest, in the afternoons while avoiding work, or at night when their nosy neighbors were asleep, to giggle and fool around.

She had never considered that she might be just like them someday, stealing kisses against the tree trunks and weaving daisy chains to decorate a lover’s hair. But here she was, meeting Parlan almost daily to climb trees and lay in the grass, to kiss lazily and steal him away to the Century tree to free him from his work clothes. They sat and talked together for hours, trading stories of their separate lives, learning each other’s secrets.

Though Briar had never particularly longed for company, it was a pleasant surprise to discover just how much she enjoyed having Parlan at her side. The days passed more quickly when he was there, and the nights felt simultaneously too full and too empty whenever he returned to the village, leaving Briar alone with the woods. 

For the first time she found herself considering what she wanted from the rest of her life cycle, other than for the forest to prosper. She had room in her heart for more than the trees, and Parlan fit in the remaining spaces perfectly. Whenever she looked at him, resting in the arms of an ancient oak, or smiling at her brashness, or closing his eyes in utmost trust, her chest ached with how fond she had become of him.

It frightened her a little, how much she cared for him. She wanted to be with him always, but she would never dream of leaving the forest. She couldn’t survive in his village; she would shrivel in misery. But she couldn’t ask him to leave his life behind to join her among the trees. That was the sort of selfishness that other men showed in trying to take her and keep her.

She sat on these worries, mulling them over and over until she thought perhaps she had sorted them out well enough to present them. It was difficult, admitting a fear, allowing herself to be vulnerable in any way. But if there were anyone she trusted not to hurt her, it was Parlan.

“Do you like working on a farm?” She asked him one evening while he was visiting after work. He sat beside her on her mossy bed, his shirt cast aside so she could kiss and bite all the way down his neck, leaving reddened marks as she went. Now they were sharing a handful of wild berries, staining their mouths deep red as they sat cross legged, knee to knee, talking.

Parlan shrugged, “I like it well enough. It’s all I’ve ever known, so it’s hard to tell if I really enjoy it or if I’m just comfortable with it.”

Briar thought of the trees she cared for, the responsibility she had to them, “Are you meant to take over the farm from your parents, then?”

“Gosh, no,” Parlan shook his head, “My older sister and her wife are the ones inheriting the farm. I just help out now. Which I suppose I could keep doing…. I’m not sure what else I could do.” He smiled, chagrined, “I haven’t really considered other lines of work. That’s probably foolish.”

“It isn’t foolish if that’s what you want to do.” Briar told him, feeling suddenly very lucky to be so sure of her own path, “But if you want to do something else, I’m sure you’d be wonderful at it.”

Parlan blushed faintly, “I don’t have many skills.” He said, then grinned, playful, “If  _ you’re _ looking for workers, though, I humbly offer my services as a courtesan.”

Briar laughed out loud, to Parlan’s obvious delight. Distracted from her line of questioning, she kissed him briefly and said, “I’m not a monarch, Parlan. I have no court.”

Parlan’s blush intensified, creeping down his throat to highlight the marks Briar made there, “You’re like a queen though. Like a goddess.”

Briar waved him off, laughing still, “I am neither!”

“I like to worship you as if you were, though.” Parlan said, quieter.

Briar’s laughter petered out, leaving her smiling softly. She placed a hand on Parlan’s knee, saying, “Only in bed, sweet one.”

Parlan nodded. They had an understanding. In all other cases their time spent together was as equals, but in these private moments he could be as subservient as he wanted, needed, to be. And if he was going to play that role, Briar was more than happy to play along, practicing her skills of dominance. And they were in bed now, after all.

“If I could exist only to please you…” He mused, shivering in pleasure at the fantasy he was composing, “My lady, please, let me-”

Briar cupped his cheek, directing him to look into her eyes. He was struggling with his words again, but she could see his pupils dilating, his demeanor changing from playful to wanting, “Let you what, my sweet? What is it you want to do?”

Parlan swallowed thickly, leaning into her touch, “I want to please you.”

“Then please me.” Briar said, smiling. She stroked her thumb over his cheekbone encouragingly, “Show me how good you are.”

Parlan shivered, nodded, and moved away. He climbed down from the moss covering of the bed to kneel on the ground below her, dust coating the knees of his trousers. He sat with his hands in his lap, his warm eyes looking upturned, waiting.

Briar’s heart leapt to her throat, excitement thrilling through her. She’d been hoping to get Parlan back down on his knees since she first offered him her hand to kiss, and now that he had volunteered she was hungrier than ever for it, already growing wet. She uncrossed her legs and scooted forward to the edge of the bed, thighs slightly parted, suggestive. She gave Parlan a nod, repeating, “Show me.”

He moved forward, raising a hand to brace against her thigh, hesitating to actually touch her, instead asking, “May I?”

Briar smiled down at him, encouraging. She spread her legs further, nodding her approval, “Don’t make me wait, Parlan.”

“Sorry, my lady.” He whispered, appropriately shamed. He laid his hands gently on her thighs, the calloused pads of his fingers slightly ticklish on her skin, and leaned in to lay a kiss where leaves just barely covered the wet heat of her clit, nestled between folds of soft skin.

She shuddered at the light touch, burying the fingers of one hand into moss before realizing that there was a better home for them. She reached out to weave her fingers into Parlan’s hair instead, sighing at the softness of it. It was so good for touching and petting, for pulling- but not quite yet. She waited, more patient than she would let on, moaning when his tongue pressed against her. It was slick and hot, becoming wetter where it moved through her own fluids, dragging slowly up her folds and finding her clit.

He started clumsily, learning her body in a new context, but even his unpracticed movements stoked the fire in her. Her fingers tightened in his hair, dragging a whine from him, drawing a gasp from her. Every sound that fell from his lips, muffled against her skin where his tongue moved in broad strokes, then quick, focused flicks of the tip, made Briar’s head swim just as much as the physical touched did.

“I like hearing you.” She told him, and it felt good just to say out loud, “The  _ noises _ you make- they’re so pretty, so pathetic-”

She bit her lip, stopping herself short. Was that too mean? Should she apologize?

Between her legs Parlan moaned low in his throat, the vibration of the sound buzzing against her skin pleasantly. Though he was sitting still his hips were moving, slightly, rolling uselessly forward. He glanced up at her from behind disheveled hair, his eyes taking on that desperate, wanting look.

So she kept talking.

“You’re so good for me, sweet one.” She crooned, raising her hips up to meet the pressure of his tongue, “Be a good boy and put your hands behind your back.”

The weight of his hands on her thighs was gone in an instant. She watched him tuck his arms obediently behind his back, gripping onto his own wrists to hold them there, and laughed, delighted, at how quickly he did as she told him.

“ _ Perfect _ .” She sighed, “Oh, you look so good. Is that alright? Are you comfortable?”

Parlan nodded minutely, more focused on sucking on her clit than anything else. His eyes were closed in concentration, the whole of his upper body tinted by his telltale blush. 

Briar pulled his hair sharply, earning a yelp, demanding his attention elsewhere for a moment. Only after he had opened his eyes to look at her did she insist, “Use your words, Parlan.”

“Yes my lady,” He answered, sharp as if he’d been shocked. His expression was something close to lost, too heated to think straight. Satisfied, Briar loosened her hold, letting him tuck himself back between her thighs to lick up the new wetness there.

Perhaps, Briar considered, she could be just a little bit cruel to him after all. If he enjoyed it, at least.

“Good boy.” She murmured, cupping the back of his head with her other hand, scratching gently at the hair along the nape of his neck. He shivered at the praise and flicked his tongue over her clit again, making her arch and moan. He redoubled his efforts, licking and sucking there dutifully, keeping his eyes upturned.

She cursed and rolled her hips hard against him, worrying for a moment that she might smother him or throw him off his rhythm, but he only sighed contentedly, his senses taken up entirely by her. Encouraged by the pleasure he seemed to be taking from his position, she brought him that much closer, riding his tongue, her hips working tirelessly.

“You’d be such a good courtesan,” She gasped out, eyes half-lidded as she looked over the beautiful shape of him, knelt on the ground, “Using that mouth for me, that tongue- I’d never let you off your knees.”

Parlan whined against her, his hips jerking up roughly into empty air as he sucked on her clit.

“I’d take you on your hands and knees,” She panted, rambling now as she got close, “Would you- would you like that, my sweet? Should I bend you over and have my way with you?”

The enthusiastic whimper she heard in response tipped her over the edge. She came hard, fingers curled tight in Parlan’s hair, thighs twitching, her legs involuntarily trying to come together to protect her oversensitive clit from too much attention. She steered Parlan away, leaving him slumped back on the floor in front of her, gasping for breath, his face slick and wet from her.

Breathing hard, slightly dizzy in the afterglow, Briar motioned for Parlan to get back on the bed with her. He climbed up eagerly knelt on the moss just as he had on the ground, arms clasped behind him, squirming despite his best efforts to keep still. Briar turned around to face him, far past the point of teasing as she undid his trousers and shoved them down, out of her way. She gathered a coating of her own fluids from Parlan’s face, gentle, at least, in wiping his wet mouth and chin, and wrapped her slick fingers around his cock.

He trembled at her touch, practically coming apart already. His cock was leaking steadily, smearing her palm and making her strokes smoother, steadily faster.

“I want to make a mess of you.” Briar told him, speaking softly, as if it was a secret.

Parlan’s strong shoulders were tense, his muscles taught as he bucked up into the tight ring of her fingers, “Please-” He said, but never made it clear what he was begging for. It only took a moment more to make him come, spilling over her hand, his whole body going rigid before he relaxed, nearly losing his balance while his arms were still held obediently behind his back.

Briar cleaned her hands and eased him down to lay beside her, freeing his arms as though they had been tied and needed undoing.

“That was lovely.” She said gently, lying down to look at him face to face, “You were fantastic, Parlan.”

He was much too red to blush any further, but he smiled his shy, overwhelmed smile, “Thank you, my lady.” After a moment he reached out to take her hand, adding, “Thank you, Briar.”

They lay like that a while, close enough that their foreheads touched, enjoying each other’s quiet company as they came down. The night was still around the Century tree, much of the forest sleeping, and Briar idly wondered if Parlan’s family was beginning to wonder where he went off to at night. Surely they knew that he was meeting up with someone, but had they asked who? Did they have their suspicions?

She hoped, vaguely, in a way she didn’t normally associate with feelings toward other people, that they would like her.

She shook the idea from her mind, turning instead to another matter that had caught up her thoughts.

“Would you actually want that?” She asked, when both their bodies had cooled down and her heart was beating at its normal pace, “What I said before...taking you?”

Parlan, still red in the face but long since scrubbed clean, shifted a bit uncertainly, “I-” He began, “Maybe. I didn’t even know you could do that.”

Briar shrugged, not wanting to press the issue if it made him uncomfortable, “I could make a phallus out of wood to use. I wouldn’t be the first.”

He stared at her in something like disbelief. Laughing lightly, helplessly, at a crude word used so plainly, he said, “I suppose you could.” And, after a moment of consideration, “I might want to try it. I want to try a lot of things with you.”

“Likewise.” Briar said fondly. She searched out his hand with her own, loosely intertwining their fingers. Even when they were busy with a hundred other things, by duty or by choice, she never really wanted to stop holding his hand. Just as quick as it had come and gone, the thought of Parlan’s life outside the forest came back occupy her mind. This time she let the thought stay, becoming clearer, more present, until she was ready to give it a voice.

“You know,” Briar began, keeping her voice even as not to betray her nerves, “You  _ could _ stay here with me. If you don’t need to work with your family, or if that isn’t what you want to do, then you’ll always be welcome here in the woods.”

Parlan blinked in surprise at the offer, a slow smile taking over his face.

“I would never dream of trying to take you away from your life in the village,” Briar hurriedly clarified, “But if you  _ wanted _ to stay, to live with me, that would be… nice.”

“That would be nice.” Parlan echoed quietly. He squeezed her hand affectionately, “It would be an honor.”

Briar laughed. For anyone else an invitation from the lady of the forest would be an honor and a gift. For Parlan it was quickly becoming routine, but he still treated like a blessing.

“Besides,” Parlan added, his smile mischievous, “It might deter other men from coming after you if word got around that I’d been  _ stolen away _ by the forest spirit.”

Briar smiled at the suggestion, but it was as much of a fantasy as the thought of Parlan becoming her consort. Sighing, she said, “They’d more likely give up if they thought I  _ belonged _ to you.”

Parlan laughed hollowly, shaking his head, “You could never belong to me.” He said, almost proudly, “Or to anyone. But for what it’s worth, I do love you.”

“That’s worth a lot.” Briar said, her anger at the rest of the human world ebbing away, “Love is a powerful thing, and an honor to have.” She lifted Parlan’s hand to her lips, kissing his fingers tenderly, “I love you too, my sweet.”

She kissed his lips then, soft and slow, savoring the feel of him. As good as it felt to be above him, being perfectly aligned, side by side, was even better. She loved him, sweet and shy. She loved him, submissive. She loved him, brave enough to approach her wild form in the forest. She loved him at her side.

“If you decide to stay,” She said, “I think I have a better job for you than courtesan. How does  _ guard _ sound, my love?”

**.**

**.**

The spirit of the Century Tree had always protected the forest. Though Briar couldn’t remember the details of any of her previous lives, she knew that one fact to be true. The trees, the land, the animals, needed a guardian, and she was the one to stand watch for them. As far as she knew, as far as the legends told, she had never had help before.

But Parlan made for a wonderful guard. He tended to the wild plants with all the skill he had learned caring for crops with his family. He did his share of work protecting the land from those that were selfish and spiteful, and greeted all those who gathered only what they needed with a smile and a blessing on behalf of the lady of the forest. 

He patrolled the edges of the forest and kept it safe from anyone who meant to do it harm. Just as Briar had expected, the men from the nearby villages listened to him with far less fuss than they ever had to her, showing him the respect that they would never grant her. It was a point of frustration, but there was nothing she could do that would fix the minds of men everywhere.

Parlan respected her, and that was enough most days.

And Briar respected him in return, a fact that well and truly won over his family when it came time to meet them at the forest’s edge. Parlan’s parents and siblings had been as awed by her as he had once been, taken aback by her strange appearance and stranger ways, but they were people who understood nature, and soon enough they understood her. They saw the way that Parlan looked at her, with a love that could inspire songs and stories, and, twice as important, the way that she returned his loving gaze.

They welcomed her into their family just as if she were a human woman their boy had brought home to marry. And, in getting to know them all, Briar was astonished to find that she was happy to be included. Having a family outside of the trees had never occurred to her, but once it became an option, she couldn’t imagine it any other way.

Parlan visited them often, when they were too busy to come out to the woods, as he had once visited Briar when they were apart. He met them for evening meals and came home laughing, sighing, overjoyed at the love of them, to sleep in Briar’s arms within the hollow Century tree.

Together they cared not for the rumors spread by jealous villagers; that she was a monster, that he was a traitor to his kind, that she had enchanted him, that he was nothing more than a pet to her.

Briar would reassure him, while they lay curled together in soft moss, that he was no traitor, and that she would never use enchantment to cloud his choices. Parlan reassured her, in return, that she was no monster, and that he actually quite liked being her pet. Then the two of them would collapse into laughter, at the ridiculousness of the world and how well they fit together within it.

They were strange together, and it suited them fine. And though they settled into a comfortable routine as lovers often do, they still tried new things from time to time. Sometimes, new things involved old fantasties.

“I made something,” Briar announced one evening, when Parlan returned from patrolling the edge of the woods. She met him at the door, excitement making her impatient. Speaking bluntly, she told him, “It’s a wooden phallus, like we talked about.”

Parlan looked puzzled for a moment before his memory of their earlier conversation clicked into place, and his jaw dropped a little in surprise, “Oh!”

Briar wasn’t sure what emotion it was that accompanied his surprise; uncertainty? Disinterest? Her own excitement ebbed away a little. Evening her tone, she said, “It was only to see if I could make one, though. We don’t have to use it if that isn’t what you want.”

“Well I-” Parlan stuttered, color flooding his cheeks, “I would like to  _ see _ it.” He said, “And… perhaps use it. I do like the idea of it, in theory.”

Briar smiled up at him, cheeky, “You like the idea,” She repeated, teasing, “What idea is that, Parlan?”

The color in Parlan’s cheeks crept up into his ears. He ducked his head, as shy as ever in the face of Briar’s flirtation, “The idea of you, um, having your way with me, my lady.” 

Briar laughed, light and giggling in her joy at hearing his confession. She moved to the curving wall of the Century tree, reaching into the shelf-like knot in the wood where she had set her new creation and a helpful container of oils. She picked up the wooden toy in one hand and the oil in the other, presenting them both to Parlan proudly. The oil was a thing of practicality, but the wooden phallus was really a work of art.

It had a good weight in her hand, sturdy and smooth, oiled and polished so its surface gleamed amber bright, the woodgrain standing out like veins. It was about as long as Parlan’s cock, a little slimmer, and as Briar trailed her fingers over its gently rounded tip, she watched Parlan watching her, smiling at the desire in his gaze.

“Would you like me to use it, my love?” She asked, as much to rile him up as to give him an opportunity to back out.

Parlan nodded slowly, deciding as he spoke, “I want to try.”

“Perfect.” Briar said, and went up on the balls of her feet to kiss him briefly, “If it’s too much, or you don’t like it, just tell me and we’ll stop.”

She took a step back and lowered the wooden phallus to her groin, lining it up against her body. It was a perfect fit; the base rubbed pleasantly against her clit just as she had intended it to. She stroked her fingertips down the length of it and the wood moved under her touch just as if it were another branch for her to manipulate, the base sprouting fresh green vines that climbed her body, winding around her waist and thighs to hold the wood in place. When the vines settled, she stood with her hands on her hips and grinned up at Parlan, excitedly asking, “Isn’t that clever?”

Parlan took in the sight of her, beginning to blush, and quietly answered, “Extremely, my lady.”

A shiver raced down Briar’s back at his tone. She came close to kiss him again, the wooden toy pressing up against his thigh the way his own cock often pressed, hard and leaking, against her. She wove her fingers into his hair, gentle, and spoke against his lips, “Can you undress for me, sweet one?”

He murmured the faintest affirmation and began undoing his trousers, continuing to kiss her softly as he stepped out of them, only breaking contact for a moment to pull his shirt over his head. He rested his hands on her hips, feeling carefully along the vines there, marveling at their sudden appearance and at how well they hugged her body.

Briar smiled against his mouth, pulling away to look into his eyes, “You like the vines,” She observed, trailing a hand over his forearm, “I could give you a matching set, if you’d like to be bound.” 

Parlan shuddered, shoulders slumping in relief, “Yes please.”

Briar reached down to pluck a small green leaf from the vines stretched across her hip and brought it to Parlan’s wrist. Upon touching the warmth of his skin the stem of the leaf split, sprouting new vines that trailed up his forearm. Briar guided his hands behind his back as the vines reached to wrap around his other wrist, binding his arms together, locking them straight against his spine, shoulders back.

She pushed him lightly and, unable to balance, Parlan tipped back onto the moss covered bed, letting out a startled gasp. He lay still, restrained, his legs hanging awkwardly over the side of the bed and his cock standing upright.

Briar looked over him, assessing. Though she had initially fantasized about putting him on all fours and taking him from behind, she realized it would be best to be able to see his face clearly, both to see if he was comfortable and to be better able to watch him come undone. This, she thought, would do nicely. 

“Are you comfortable, my sweet?” She asked, and watched for Parlan’s eager nod. She took him by the hips and arranged him on the bed, judging the height of it to be acceptable. Her hips would line up easily enough, and she would have better leverage, standing, “Lift your legs.” She told him, patting the edge of the bed, and he obliged, pressing his heels into the bed.

Briar ran the tips of her fingers over his thighs, from the bend of his knee to his groin and back again. He shivered under her touch, more exposed now than he had ever been. Though Briar’s hands had wandered before, exploring behind Parlan’s cock and balls, teasing a whimper or two out of him, it had never gone beyond teasing. Now Briar was excited to see what more she could do.

She oiled her fingers liberally, showing Parlan how wet they were before trailing them, feather light, down his cock, making it twitch, then lower, behind his balls. She spread a layer of oil between his cheeks, over his hole, listening for the breathy moan that first touch elicited, “Tell me how you’re feeling, love.” She reminded.

“Good, my lady.” Parlan answered in an instant.

“And your arms?” She prompted, “Are you in pain?”

Parlan shook his head, “No, my lady.”

“Let me know if you need to be let up.” Briar said sternly, massaging his hole with her fingers, rubbing smooth, insistent circles against the puckered skin. This, at least, she knew Parlan enjoyed. His hips jumped at each sensation, his cock leaking slightly. If Briar were to touch him there too, sliding her thumb over the head of his erection, he would likely come on the spot. She kept her other hand busy kneading his ass instead, keeping him spread open while she painted him slick and shining with oil.

She coated her fingers anew and pressed the first finger into him, easy, aided by oil and his own relaxed state. He took it without trouble, his breathing only a little labored as she worked it inside, and, as she withdrew to rub her fingertips over his hole again, he whined. A second finger slid in easily too, and here Briar took more time. She fucked him with her fingers, slowly, watching him tremble as she became accustomed to the stretch and fullness.

“Tell me when you want a third.” She told him, smiling fondly at the slightly dazed expression he already wore, “ _ If _ you want a third. I could keep doing this, if you prefer, or stop the whole thing.”

“Don’t stop.” Parlan said quickly, almost pleading. The steady twitch of his hips, up, in search of contact, was gradually becoming a downward motion instead, pressing his weight into the gentle thrust of her fingers, “I can take a third, please.” 

Briar grinned and withdrew her fingers, nearly laughing at the brief disappointment that flickered over Parlan’s face. Even the stifled laugh made him blush deeply, squirming in shame. Feeding that fire, Briar said, “You  _ are _ desperate, aren’t you?”

His answering whimper, humiliated and aroused, turned her smile wicked, delighted at how much he was enjoying himself.

She added another layer of oil to her already slick fingers, spreading it over Parlan’s hole, feeling how much looser he’d become. With all the oil and stretching he was nearly as wet and open as she was. She worked three fingers into him, sliding her fingertips smooth against his walls, and he moaned brokenly. His breath caught every time her knuckles nudged against his rim, and Briar soon found herself wondering how many fingers she could fit in him, if his whining and moaning would increase with the size of what she worked into him.

The wooden phallus she’d made wasn’t any wider across than her fingers, but it was a good start for now, at least. She stretched him with her fingers until her wrist began to cramp, and then withdrew them, taking hold of the toy between her legs instead.

“Are you ready, Parlan?” She asked, and smiled at his enthusiastic, if somewhat distracted, nod. She spread more oil on the wooden toy, taking long enough to slick the whole of it that Parlan became impatient, his hips twitching up once more. Briar put a hand against his belly to still him, admonishing, “Wait.” 

He froze, tensed as he waited for her to let him move. She petted his skin soothingly, murmuring, “Calm down,” and lined the toy up against him, pressing the tip in carefully. His breath caught audibly and she paused, stroking his hip, “Is that alright?”

“Very. Yes. Definitely alright.” He stumblingly assured her, “Thank you, my lady.”

Briar laughed lightly at the unnecessary formality he tacked on and leaned over to press a kiss to his knee, the closest bit of skin available. She pressed on, slow and steady, sinking deeper into him with each exhale and watching his expression shift. His eyelids fluttered closed, eyebrows knitting together below his bangs as he let his head fall back.

“Tell me how it feels.” Briar reminded him, the instruction in place to monitor both his comfort, and to titillate her.

Parlan swallowed thickly. He opened his mouth to speak and shut it again just as quickly, hesitating maybe, or struggling to find his words, “Good.” He finally said, “Being stretched open- being open for you- it’s good.”

Briar moaned quietly despite herself. The base of the toy pressing against her clit was nice, but it didn’t send a spark of heat through her quite like hearing Parlan speak did. She rolled her hips forward, burying the last bit of smooth wood inside him, and his wordless cry made her throb against the polished surface on her end.

It was easy, almost mindless, from there. She drew her hips back, Parlan took a sharp breath, she jerked her hips forward, Parlan cried out. Each thrust built momentum to the next, and the next, and soon she established a steady rhythm, fucking him quick, hard, like young lovers on a picnic blanket, like woodland animals in heat.

She paused to get her footing, bracing herself against his legs and curling him in on himself in the process, and he whined in wanting as she slid the toy from his body. She positioned it against him again and plunged into him, prompting a startled gasp, then another, then something like a wail that made her hips stutter to a stop in concern.

She pulled in a breath to ask if she had hurt him, fear freezing her, but he spoke over her in a rush, moaning, “ _ Please _ don’t stop-”

So she started up again, her muscles beginning to burn from exertion as she bore down on him, hips snapping hard against his ass. He writhed under her, the picture of ecstacy, helpless with his arms restrained, senseless from being fucked. He moaned her name, and her title, and that he loved her, and that he wanted to come so, so badly, and he was  _ hers _ , only hers, her lover, her guard, her courtesan, her toy-

And Briar stared down at him as he fell apart in front of her, lost for words at the overwhelming affection and desire that filled her, making her heart race with how much she loved him. She wanted to make him feel like this forever, to keep watching him like this. Every moan, every cry, made her ache for release.

The pressure of the wood against her clit was just barely enough, but when she thrust forward, sinking all the way into Parlan, and ground her hips down against the toy wood as she listened to him beg, the contact was enough to put her over the edge. She put a hand around his cock, thumb poised against the head, and murmured, “Come now, sweet one. Come for me, Parlan.”

He came with a whine, spilling hot and wet over her hand, shaking so hard she thought he might actually come apart. She slowed the thrusting of her hips, fucking him through his orgasm and riding out her own, until she truly couldn’t remain standing.

She pulled out of him carefully and waited, legs shaking, as the vines around her hips and thighs disentangled, dropping to the ground and taking the wooden phallus with them. Free of the cumbersome toy and feeling ready to collapse, Briar clumsily straddled Parlan’s midsection, burying her hands in his hair and kissing him hard on the mouth, thankful, loving, trying to convey all the words she couldn’t gather through touch alone.

She let herself fall onto the bed beside him, encouraging him to roll onto his side too, taking the weight off his trapped arms. She kissed him, again and again, and slowly her words came back to her, “Wonderful,” She breathed against his lips, “You were perfect, my love, you did wonderfully.”

Parlan kissed her back as if in a dream, his own thoughts scattered from more than just orgasm. He was dazed from vulnerability, from submitting so fully. As Briar blanketed him with praise, slowly undoing the vines keeping his arms tied and massaging the flow of blood back into his arms, he gradually came back to himself.

“So you enjoyed it?” Briar was asking, when Parlan was able to focus once more. And though the answer should have been obvious, it was the act of asking that was important.

“It was strange,” Parlan admitted, his voice a little hoarse, “But  _ good _ .” He shivered a bit at the memory, still so recent, and said definitively, “I enjoyed it. Did  _ you _ enjoy it, Briar?” More aware, he put an arm around her, embracing her as best he could when every part of him still felt shaken.

“Very much.” Briar answered, flashing her wicked smile. Her expression softened with affection as she stroked Parlan’s cheek, both of their skin a mess of sweat and oil, “You looked beautiful. I’d love to try it again sometime.”

Parlan kissed her softly. He lay his head upon the moss of her bed and looked up at her, smiling, and said, “It would be an honor, my lady.”

**.**


End file.
